


Stringer

by HedonistInk



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Age Difference, Escort Lance (Voltron), Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss as a Couple, Getting to Know Each Other, Journalist Shiro (Voltron), M/M, References to Sex Work, Shance Zine, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-25 07:20:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10759461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HedonistInk/pseuds/HedonistInk
Summary: Takashi Shirogane's name was well enough known. He was decorated and recognized for his work in war-torn countries. He was considered one of the premier wartime journalists of his time. He was praised for never hesitating to go into the field, even after what people would only refer to as 'the incident'. He was brave and daring and bold. He was… He was goddamn lonely was what he was.The announcement congratulating him on his winning of yet another award for his work hadn't moved from where he'd dropped it to the table in disgust when he'd gotten to the part about being invited to the award ceremony to be presented with the award and the part about RSVP'ing whether he was going to come alone or bring a plus-one. He couldn't go alone. The chatter and gossip would kill him.But... nothing said he couldn't hire his plus-one.





	Stringer

**Author's Note:**

> This piece was originally written for the Shance Zine but now that sales of that are closed, I'm tossing this up here!

_Stringer: **string·er** /ˈstriNGər/ (noun): a newspaper correspondent not on the regular staff of a newspaper, especially one retained on a part-time basis to report on events in a particular place._

 

Takashi Shirogane's name was well enough known. He was decorated and recognized for his work in war-torn countries. He was considered one of the premier wartime journalists of his time. He was praised for never hesitating to go into the field, even after what people would only refer to as 'the incident'. He was brave and daring and bold. He was… He was goddamn lonely was what he was.

It was no secret that Shiro had been on an assignment with his long-time boyfriend when everything had gone wrong in the way everyone always prayed for things to not go wrong. When everything was said and done, Shiro arrived home less one arm and one lover and plus one casket. He could still remember the vague chaos after the explosion, how everything had gone quiet except for the ringing in his ears.

And it seemed like the industry was determined to not let him forget it. He'd run out of patience for his "concerned colleagues" a long time ago already. Every social event or award ceremony or what have you meant more questions and comments and inquiries. Everyone seemed to want to know if he had "moved on" yet, if he was seeing anyone new. Bunch of gossip ganders.

Shiro had moved on. He'd had to. He hadn't had a choice in that. But the "seeing someone new" part was the tricky part. Shiro wasn't exactly… the _best_ with people or unknowns. Crowds, sure, he could give a speech in front of thousands. Dangerous situations, sure, he could charge into a warzone without a second thought. But something as simple as the idea of _dating_ sent Shiro into fits of panic that had him feeling like he couldn't breathe. And that was when he even found someone that he was interested in at all anyway.

And that was why the announcement congratulating him on his winning of yet another award for his work hadn't moved from where he'd dropped it to the table in disgust when he'd gotten to the part about being invited to the award ceremony to be _presented_ with the award and the part about RSVP'ing whether he was going to come alone or bring a plus-one.

_Fuck._

He didn't want to go.

No, that was an understatement. He really _really_ didn't want to fucking go. No way. He did not want to go to another stuffy award ceremony where he would have to deal with invasive questions and unwanted opinions and comments and—

He didn't really have a _choice._ Not going to one of these events could be career suicide when it came to seeming like an "active" part of the community as a freelance writer. If he were still under contract with one of the major publications, then he would have that leeway, but Shiro had long since opted to work for himself first and everyone else second, to only take the jobs he wanted to take. Which meant working freelance. He got plenty of work, his reputation speaking for him whenever he approached any publication with a proposal for a piece. But it also meant having to seem _nice_ and _approachable_ at events like this.

_Fuck._

Nearly a full bottle of wine and several self-pitying texts to Allura asking for help later, Shiro found himself buried in his arms at his desk with a dejected whine. It wouldn't have been so bad if he'd had someone to _go with_ who could pretend to be dating him, if only briefly. But there was no one he could ask. Everyone knew he was gay so he couldn't ask Allura—not that that would work anyway since the fashion editor's interest in women was about as much of a secret as Shiro's interest in men. Pidge just flat out wasn't interested in anyone, really—though there _were_ rumours about Pidge and Allura having been seen _getting friendly_ together that Shiro hadn't gotten around to prodding Allura for the truth on yet. Keith would say no. There was no way he would be roped into _that_ particular shit show. Hunk would probably say yes but it would be a _pity_ yes and he had a girlfriend anyway which wouldn't help the sell of the idea that he was dating Shiro. Which left Shiro out of options and almost out of wine.

A soft murr from by his ankle drew his attention and Shiro peered out from the cave of his arms to see a large, rather round, fluffy bundle of dark brown fur rubbing against his leg. Shiro sighed, moving to pick the cat up and deposit him into his lap. "I don't know, Alfie. What do you think I should do?"

With a flat-toned _miau_ , Alfie nudged against Shiro's hand demandingly. Relenting with a chuckle, Shiro moved to scratch at the cat's head, obeying when a head tilt directed him to under the cat's chin.

"Well… Not all of us can be as… demanding as you." Shiro's words were answered with another flat _miau_ and he sighed. "I wish I could just _hire_ a fucking boyfriend and get this business over with."

" _Miau._ "

Well… Why not right?  

Sitting up in his seat, Shiro shook his mouse until his computer screen flickered into life. Reaching around the blob of fur and cat in his lap, he tapped away at his keyboard, pausing to scritch under the expectant cat's chin while the page loaded. His search had pulled up varying… _questionable_ escort sites. As well as a few… _independent_ sites for people to post their own listings. He could hire an escort. Someone who could go with him for the evening and pretend to be his boyfriend.

But they were all so young. Even the oldest guys he found on the listings, he easily had a good ten years on. With a sarcastic snort, Shiro finished off the bottle. "Well… _that_ would certainly give them something to talk about, wouldn't it?"

" _Miau._ "

It was an absurd idea. Totally not something Shiro would even consider normally. But… the more listings he flipped through… The more he almost wanted to do it just to see if he could pull it off, hire someone to be his boyfriend for the award ceremony and the few events in the days before and after and not get caught. They could string together some backstory about how they met, he could buy the guy's time for the whole weekend to do nothing more than smile and make small talk with some strangers… It was win-win, really.

Of course, if they _did_ get caught-out… There would be even _more_ rumours about how "poor Shiro" hasn't moved on. But… _fuck it_ if he _could_ pull it off, they'd get off his case. He could live his life in peace for a while, tell them he and whoever the man was broke up and that he was taking some time for himself again.

Shiro found himself stopping at the broadly smiling face of a rather slim brunette with tawny skin and impossibly blue eyes. He was definitely _way_ too young for Shiro. But… it wasn't like he was _actually_ going to date him or _do anything_ with him. So it was fine. Honestly, it was probably _better_ that way, give those gossip ganders something to yammer to each other about. It wasn't as though Shiro _actually_ had anything against the other journalists and reporters in his field. They were just… far too caught up in pity and gossip and, realistically, teasing them with a bit of false information now and then was just what they deserved.

At least, that was enough reasoning for Shiro to justify sending a message to the randomised email address the website provided him with to contact the mystery man. His name, a photo of his face, and a request to meet to discuss a job opportunity at the place of Lance's choosing were all that were included in the email, once all the pleasantries were filtered out. It wasn't like Shiro was the one applying for a job, after all. Surprisingly, despite the late hour, he got a response almost right away, a response that contained a name—Lance, it was cute—and a place, in front of a local nightclub the next evening. There were also some teasing innuendo-filled jabs about Shiro's choice of calling it a 'business opportunity' that Shiro filtered right past. Lance would, he said in his email, be wearing a bright blue scarf to help pick him out of the crowd. And there was a price for his 'company' for the evening. Good enough.

Shiro had heard of Lance's chosen meeting place before, a local club popular with gay men under 25 too young and bright-eyed to be disillusioned by club dating and older men over 50 looking to relive the glory days of their youth. But he'd never dared to go near the place. Before his accident he hadn't been particularly interested in the chaos of a thrumming crowd unless there was a story to be had. And after… well that wasn't the sort of attention he was looking for, more people to gawk at the scars marring his face and arms. His right side had taken the brunt of it but the wide slash of a scar across his face was a blatant enough sign there was something 'wrong' with him, enough to make people more curious about his injuries than him as a person.

Still, the next evening he picked out a soft blue silk button-down that clung to his chest and sides without being too-tight and a pair of plain black slacks. Skipping a tie, Shiro debated with himself before opting to leave the top buttons undone, adding a bit of 'intentional messy' to the style of his hair. And then, being no less than two hours early in his getting ready, Shiro proceeded to pace himself nearly into a frenzy until Alfie decided that the energy he was exerting pacing was better spent petting and proceeded to make a nuisance of himself until Shiro agreed. He really hoped this Lance guy wasn't allergic to cats.

Time spent and nerves somewhat calmed, Shiro managed to get himself to leave at a reasonable time. He pulled up to the curb, scanning the crowd before spotting a single bright blue sheer scarf, trailing his gaze over the figure, Shiro had no doubt it was the man he was looking for. Almost obscenely short denim cut-off shorts were partly obscured by the loose blue and white striped boatneck shirt the guy wore, straps of a darker blue tanktop visible underneath. He looked… well he looked good. Better than Shiro wanted to admit to himself.

Calling out the open window, Shiro beckoned Lance over to him by name, startling the younger man before Lance scuttled over quickly, leaning on the roof of the car in a way that only seemed to belong in some tv show with how showy and cheesy it was. And Lance's words certainly didn't help either.

"Hey there, big guy… Fancy meeting you here."

"Yeah uh… Can we… go somewhere to talk? There's a 24-hour coffee shop just around the corner a compile of blocks from here," Shiro suggested.

Lance paused, looking down at himself before looking back at Shiro with a confused stare. "I'm dressed like this and you… want to take me for… coffee?"

"It's… easier to talk that way. Quieter."

Seeming to debate this for a moment, Lance quickly opened the door and swung himself into the seat, closing the door behind him. Buckling up his seatbelt, Lance shot Shiro a smile that was somehow equal parts sympathetic and flirtatious. "Sure thing, big guy. Whatever you need. It's okay to be nervous. I'll go wherever you wanna take me."

"I'm—" Shiro started but faltered. He couldn't exactly claim he wasn't nervous. He'd passed nervous a long while ago now. But it wasn't the sort of nerves Lance was obviously assuming it was. "It's not that it's… I just… coffee, okay?"

With a shrug, Lance settled back into his seat, letting Shiro take a moment to breathe before putting the car back into gear and pulling out onto the road. He didn't try making small-talk during the short drive. Instead, Shiro spent the time psyching himself up for what he would say at the coffee shop, the 'business proposal' of sorts he'd started to draft in his head since the night before.

When they pulled up at the coffee shop—a little hole-in-the-wall place open 24-hours that seemed the type of place frequented by uni students cramming for exams—Shiro saw Lance's lips purse as he parked the car. "You… actually brought me to a coffee shop. Not like… a hotel."

"I… did say a coffee shop."

"But that never means a coffee shop. That means 'I don't want to seem thirsty' so I'll pretend I have something else in mind by saying I'm a different kind of thirsty."

Shiro snorted slightly, shaking his head. Maybe there was a whole story to be had around the subculture Lance was a part of. But that was something to consider later. For now, he just focused on making sure the car was parked and shut off before undoing his seatbelt and stepping out of the car. "You coming?"

"…Alright, whatever, buddy, it's your money." Lance shrugged, long limbs untangling to drag himself out of the car.

A few minutes later saw the two of them seated at a pair of close-nestled couches in a back corner of the shop. "So…" Shiro started, fiddling with his cup as his nerves returned to smack him across the face full-force again.

Sitting back in his seat, Lance crossed one leg over the other and in the process set Shiro off tracing the length of his thighs with his gaze. "So if you wanted to ogle my legs, there's much more comfortable places than a coffee shop."

Shiro couldn't help the blush that drew up onto his face but but pushed onward, rolling his eyes slightly and taking a sip of his coffee. "I have a business proposition for you. I would like to… pay for your time for… a couple of days." Lance's eyes widened and Shiro continued on. "Not for anything… inappropriate. I just… I'd like to hire you to play a role. A weekend as my boyfriend in public for an event."

"You want me to _pretend_ to be your boyfriend? Why don't you just… I dunno… _get_ a boyfriend? It _can't_ be hard for a guy like you to get a date."

Shiro held up his prosthetic hand. "Most people aren't interested in a defective model."

"…Oh. Well that's bullshit. So what you're a little fucked up, who isn't? It's not like you're not still smokin."

Clearing his throat, Shiro pushed on, ignoring the compliment. "Anyway, it's out of state so I'll be paying for your flight. You'll stay in my hotel room, of course, for appearances. You'll be compensated for your time. Say… three thousand for the weekend? Half up-front and half when we get back."

Lance's jaw dropped and Shiro sipped at his coffee to hide his smirk. "Th—three grand? Did you misplace a decimal point or something there!? I… heck. I— …What's the event? It's not some weird kinky thing, is it?"

With a snort, Shiro shook his head. "Only if you think a bunch of journalists emotionally circle-jerking over some exposee is kinky."

"…Hot." Lance's tone was dry, lips quirked. "Okay. Deal. I wanna see some kind of confirmation from the airline that the tickets are legit and some confirmation from the hotel. I'm not into being Lancenapped or something. When and where  do you want me?"

Shiro deliberately looked past the double-meanings of Lance's words. "We'll have to get you up to speed… No one's going to believe it if we don't have our story straight or know anything about each other. The event is the weekend after next. We'll be flying out on Thursday. Coming back Monday morning. I'll pay for anything you need during the trip. And… we'll need to get you the right kind of clothes."

Lance actually looked insulted, scoffing and bristling. "What's wrong with my clothes!?"

Shiro's lips pursed. "As much as I'd love to see the looks on their faces, no one's ever going to believe that I'm dating a guy in _booty shorts._ "

"Ugh then I guess your friends are all _boring_ old men like you. Fine, fine, if you're paying, I'm not gonna turn down free clothes."

It was a simple enough process after that, working out when and where to meet to go over the basics of their backstory and how they met, swapping idle facts about each other. They agreed on the time and the place and Shiro was pleasantly surprised when the man actually showed up. But then again, for that amount of money, Shiro wasn't surprised. It turned out, Shiro discovered, that Lance had… more depth to him than Shiro originally would have given him credit for. But he was still just an employee and nothing more.

It was the clothes-shopping that had started to win Shiro over. Lance was… well there wasn't really another word for it, Lance was _dorky._ He was odd and flamboyant and he didn't seem to mind making something of a mockery of himself for the sake of getting a laugh out of someone. That was good. It would help him to win people over. It would help to sell their story. It might even make Shiro's weekend just that much more entertaining and less dull. Shiro could hope, anyway. For all his complaining that he hadn't worn a dress shirt since he was in high school, Lance looked _good_ in the fitted button down and black slacks Shiro had had him try. And in the blue turtleneck sweater. And in… just about everything he put on. It was like Lance _couldn't_ look bad in anything. He was the sort of person who could pull off just about _any_ look.

The main event wasn't until Saturday with an unofficial after-party type of brunch on Sunday but Shiro wanted to spend some time getting to know Lance in-person, getting to know how he acted, learning to read him in social situations. So Thursday afternoon saw Shiro meeting up with Lance for the third time, this time at an airport, tickets in-hand. Shiro did his best to not panic at how suddenly more _real_ the whole thing seemed, walking through the airport with Lance at his side, the younger man staring wide-eyed with wonder at everything around them. It turned out—as Shiro found out when Lance wound up unexpectedly and desperately grabbing his hand during takeoff—that Lance had never flown before.

The flight was uneventful, thankfully enough, with just enough turbulence to have Lance grabbing his hand again twice more. Enough for Shiro to discover he didn't really mind the contact as much as he thought he would. It seemed like the trip was off to a smooth start. At least, it was until they arrived at the hotel room.

"There's two beds." Lance's words were blunt, startled as he looked between the two generous beds, hand still on the handle of his suitcase.

Shiro looked over from where he had leaned against the dresser to undo his shoes and step out of them. What was Lance getting at? "Well… yeah? Unless you'd prefer the chair but my back does not lend itself well to sleeping upright at this point in the game."

"Are we not… y'know… sharing a bed?"

Having dug his notes out from his bag, Shiro flopped himself down on the closer bed, curling one leg up under him and spreading out the scattered mess of paper before uncapping his pen with his teeth and starting to scribble in the pad of paper perched on his thigh. He looked up at Lance, blinking for a moment. "…Why? There's no reason to. No one's watching us up here."

Lance cleared his throat, moving to hook his thumbs into his belt loops, fidgeting slightly. His posture was tense, oozing uncertainty over whether he should be touching on the issue he was about to bring up. "I mean… you paid for _all of_ my time this weekend, right? The whole 'boyfriend for the weekend' thing? I kinda assumed that meant… all sides of the job."

Oh. Ohh. Right. "Oh. I… uhm…" Shiro should have expected this given Lance's 'normal' job. Or, one of them anyway. He remembered something about Lance doing filing work for something… some office a few days a week. Damn, he would have to ask about that again. Shiro coughed, clearing his throat and looking off to the side as his cheeks darkened and he got back to the question at hand. "No that's… That's not necessary. I can… handle those aspects on my own."

"…Oh. Right… Uh… okay. I…" Lance fidgeted again, eyes narrowed at Shiro as if he wasn't quite sure what to make of him. "I'm just not… I have a very limited skill-set I'm working with, Shiro. And one of those skills happens to be my ass so I'm… not exactly used to being turned down, here. But… It's your money, I guess." Lance almost sounded… a little upset at being turned down. But… that had to just be Shiro's imagination.

"That it is. You should try to get some sleep." Shiro gestured to the other bed.

"I… yeah. Okay. Right. Sure." Lance stripped off his shirt without any hesitation. And his pants followed a moment later—much to Shiro's surprise.

"I— Wh— You just—"

"What? It's not like I'm naked. They're just boxers, Shiro."

Right. Boxers. Very… very tight boxers. Shiro focused himself on his notes, ignoring the blush burning at his cheeks as he tried to finish organizing his speech. He heard the rustle of sheets and a brief glance over told him Lance had tucked himself into bed and was… watching him silently.

Catching Shiro's gaze, Lance bit his lip before speaking. "You're a good guy, Shiro. Just… try… Try to not overwork yourself, alright?"

Shiro couldn't help the slight smile on his face at the concern in Lance's tone. There was… he had no good reason to be concerned about Shiro yet there it was. "I'll try. Get some rest."

Nodding, Lance turned away and curled himself up in the bed. Shiro couldn't help but find himself distracted from his notes by the sound of soft breaths, gaze drifting to watch the sleeping man now and then. It was oddly comforting, reassuring even to have someone else there, some sound other than his own breathing. He found it lulling him towards sleep rather quickly. His notes could wait another day, he decided.

Friday morning saw Shiro being roused from his sleep by the warm but bitter smell of coffee drifting into his senses, baiting him towards consciousness with the promise of caffeine. Shiro groaned, rolling his face deeper into the pillow with a groan. Coffee? That was—

"Morning, sleepyhead."

Shiro startled at the voice, chest aching with the way his heart lurched in pace before he remembered to whom the voice belonged and why said voice was in his hotel room. Right.

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you there. I uh… wasn't sure how you took your coffee so I just got a little thing of cream and a bunch of sugars."

"Mnh…?" Shiro never did claim to be eloquent in the mornings. Sitting up and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes with another half-awake sound, he looked over to see Lance apparently fully dressed and having gone out, gotten coffee, and come back.

"I hope you like muffins. I uh… wasn't sure what to get but I figured who doesn't like chocolate chip, right?"

Coffee. And muffins. Lance had gone out and brought back coffee and muffins for the both of them. He could have very easily have not gone anywhere or just tended to his own needs. But he'd brought back things to share, things for the both of them. Shiro felt his heart flutter slightly at the knowledge before quelling the sensation. Lance was just being nice, that was all. It didn't mean anything more than that. It was just simple kindness. Lance was… Lance was kind.

Soon after, with half a cup of coffee and an entire chocolate chip muffin contributing to his level of consciousness, Shiro settled back on the edge of the bed. "I was thinking we could go sightseeing today. You know, if you wanted to? You said you've never been away from home, right? So…"

"Really!?" Lance perked, shooting away from the dresser he was sat on with all the speed and intensity of a hyperactive chihuahua who'd just spotted the mailman. "You mean it!?"

Shiro startled slightly at the sudden attitude shift before chuckling with a nod. "Well… yeah? I thought it'd be nice." He gestured with his cup at the way Lance was all but vibrating on the spot. "And it doesn't exactly look like you're the type to want to be cooped up in the hotel room all day. Besides, we're supposed to be learning to get along like we know each other, right?"

Lance seemed to deflate a bit at that for a moment but he nodded, recovering his enthusiasm quickly enough. "Sounds good to me."

"Alright." Shiro finished his coffee and stood, tossing it with a soft rustle of plastic from the bin liner. "Finish your muffin. I'm going to go get dressed."

Soon enough they were out of the hotel and headed right into the heart of downtown—not that it was more than a few blocks away to begin with. But they decided quickly that starting right at the heart of things and working their way out from there was best.

Lance right from the start was like a kid in a candy store, wide-eyes looking at everything he could possibly hope to take in. "Shiro, look!"

Shiro felt a hand in his, grabbing and tugging as Lance pointed and gestured with his free hand. His gaze dropped to their clasped hands, blinking at them for a moment before Lance seemed to realize what he'd done. Lance jerked back, clutching his hand against his chest as though he'd been burned, a deep blush of embarrassment colouring his cheeks. Biting his lip for a moment, Shiro considered the situation before laughing under his breath. This was absurd. But… it couldn't hurt to get used to a little contact. Purely for the sake of helping pull off their roles for the weekend. He reached out for Lance's hand, threading their fingers together before tugging Lance in the direction he'd been trying to drag Shiro in.

"Now what did you want me to see?" Shiro asked with a slight playful smile. He swore Lance nearly tripped on his feet at least three times in the first two minutes after that, suddenly seeming far more interested in watching their hands than the sights around them.

As the day went on, Shiro learned more about Lance than he ever could have hoped to get from his question and answer session when they'd grilled each other on the basics. Shiro had always considered himself fairly open with touch and platonic gestures. But Lance… Lance was on an entirely different level. He didn't hesitate or think twice about tugging Shiro around once he'd been given the go-ahead. He'd touch at Shiro's elbow or his bicep, gesturing and flowing through his motions like he were more liquid than solid. Shiro was more the type to squeeze someone's shoulder and smile while Lance was more the type to touch at someone's arm while leaning in slightly with an almost conspiratory smile. But the smiles, the brushing touches, it was all a bit flirty. Or at least it came across that way. Shiro enjoyed the attention more than he thought he really should have. It was nice, in a way, a way Shiro wasn't expecting in the slightest.

By the time they were picking somewhere to have dinner that night, Shiro found himself smiling and laughing more than he could remember having done in ages. Lance absolutely hung on his stories, fascinated, bright blue eyes wide as he asked little questions here and there. He seemed genuinely interested, not in the 'what' of what happened but in how Shiro felt about this or that or the next thing. He was actually interested in Shiro's perspectives. It almost, at times, seemed like he could even be interested in Shiro.

Despite appearances, Shiro knew that no matter how charming Lance was, it was just an act. Oh, but he was charming. Charming and absolutely ridiculous. Lance was lithe and gorgeous and flirty, yes, but he was also goofy and gawky and more than a little bit crass. He could—and often did—turn just about anything into something suggestive but yet he also blushed whenever Shiro did what Lance had dubbed 'sappy stuff', anything affectionate or soft or just kind-hearted. Shiro found himself wanting to pretend it was real, if only for the weekend. That… that wouldn't be so bad, right? As long as he didn't actually start to believe it, there was no harm in pretending for a few days, was there?

It was Shiro's turn to surprise Lance, then. He took Lance to an Ethiopian place he'd found, the 'authentic-feeling' sort that had you eating with your hands. The younger man's shock was priceless. It made Shiro proud that he wasn't that much of an open book. Even if his admission about thinking Shiro was "the type who even eats pizza with a fork and knife" had Shiro choking on his water. He wasn't that uptight either. Maybe he needed to be a bit more open after all.

After dinner, Lance had insisted that since Shiro chose dinner, he got to choose where they went for drinks—and they were going for drinks, Lance had been adamant about that despite Shiro's hesitations. He'd declared that they were going to find 'the shittiest bar in the city' and after a few minutes of googling and scrolling on his phone, he had a destination for them. The place was awful, absolutely terrible, the sort of place where even their 'best' vodka smelled more like nail polish remover than anything you might actually want to drink.

By the time they got back to the hotel, Shiro had learned something else about Lance. He could feel the warm buzz of alcohol in his system, just a few steps shy of tipsy, while Lance, on the other hand, seemed to be teetering just on this side of trashed. His limbs seemed about as under his control as those of a newborn giraffe and Shiro found himself catching the shorter man more than once as Lance breathed slow, awestruck little praises about anything and everything, the city, Shiro's alleged warmth, anything.

Lance was a cuddly drunk. All of Lance's 'sexy' or flirty charm had completely fallen away to be replaced by the slim man clinging onto Shiro and attempting to cuddle him as they walked. When they made it into the room, Lance was quick to strip down to his boxers and flop onto the bed, squirming around in the sheets and all but demanding that Shiro feel them, feel how soft the sheets were. He was like an overexcited kid.

He was cute, if insistent in that state, refusing to give up until Shiro agreed to perch on the edge of the bed beside him. Lance all but plastered himself to Shiro's side in his effort to curl up beside him.

Managing somehow to work the remote, Lance turned on some telenovella, quickly getting drawn into it. Shiro watched quietly for a few minutes, waiting until the ad break to ask Lance to fill him in. His eyes widened when Lance launched almost immediately into a breakdown of the backstory of every character by name and how they related to each other and who was sleeping with who and who stole whose husband and who'd gotten pregnant by the gardener. It was a bit much to follow, really. But the passion and amusement with which Lance explained it all and eagerly translated everything for Shiro had him awestruck and smiling.

Shiro's chest felt warm and tight whenever Lance smiled or laughed because of him. Especially when that laughing was at Shiro desperately trying to get the younger man to stop jumping on the bed. That had ended with Shiro half tackling and half dragging Lance back down to the bed, laughing as Lance complained dramatically about 'unlawful detainment', chanting various prison names. It was dorky and obnoxious and probably offensive and Shiro just wanted to hear Lance laugh more, see him smile more. Shiro had spent so much time—too much time—in horrible, war-ravaged places documenting people's misery and brutality. Somehow, he thought it had made him forget that little things could be so… so _good._

Shiro wasn't sure exactly when he fell asleep but late the next morning, he woke up at least somewhat in the right direction on the bed and with a blanket over him. Even if it was the wrong bed. And even if Lance was curled up next to him, keeping a careful border of space between them. Shiro almost wanted to be the one to break that divide. He discovered he had apparently managed to get changed, at least, and get out of his prosthetic.

Once Lance was up, Shiro found out the story of the night before. According to Lance it was that he had crashed in the middle of an episode and Lance had let him sleep until 'ass o'clock'. That was when Lance had nagged him to get comfortable and poked him in the cheek until Shiro had, apparently, threatened to 'squish Lance like a bug' but gotten up and changed regardless. Why he'd flopped back down in Lance's bed after that, Shiro couldn't say. But he couldn't say he minded the proximity.

They spent the morning being lazy about actually getting out of bed, getting the most terrible unhealthy, greasy lunch they could, watching bad TV. It was all… weirdly domestic. It was… strange for Shiro, not being alone, having someone there in his space. But it was… a good kind of weird. Shiro kept having to remind himself that it was _only_ for the weekend.

Eventually, Shiro couldn't put it off any longer. It was time to get ready. Lance flustered Shiro yet again by having absolutely no sense of personal modesty, casually getting changed right out in the middle of the room, in full view. It almost made Shiro self-conscious in a way as he went to change in the bathroom, feeling so painfully aware of his body while Lance felt so free with his.

Shiro found himself momentarily forgetting that particular worry when he came out to see Lance in his event clothes. Lance's tux looked… well amazing would have been understating it. He looked like he'd walked straight out of the pages of a magazine. The slim fit tux hugged at the lines of his body, making his long, lean frame look even moreso. The topaz pocket square and matching skinny tie both complimented his eyes and brought out their brilliant colour and depth. Hell, down to the shine on his shoes, Shiro couldn't remember the last time just looking at another person had made his heart flip and flutter in his chest. Lance was a vision. Shiro had to remind himself to breathe, mouth suddenly dry.

"… _Wow._ " Shiro hardly realized he'd said the word aloud until Lance was looking over at him, blinking rapidly with an increasing blush.

"Wh— what? Is it too much? I could ditch the tie if it's too much or—"

" _You're perfect,_ " Shiro breathed out the words in a jumble before realizing what he'd said. "I— I mean… it's perfect. It looks great. You'll be the talk of the town."

Lance's blush then was something that Shiro did his best to commit to memory, the heat on the other man's cheeks faint but stark against the striking suit. "Th—thanks… Not too bad yourself."

Shiro glanced away with a small smile and a muttered thanks. He had opted for a simple black-on-black combination, his black suit, shirt, and tie all crisp and sharp in their colour. He held out a pair of sleek silver cufflinks. "Would… you mind helping me?"

Blinking at him for a moment before snapping into action, Lance's touch was light and fleeting against his sleeves as he sorted out the cufflinks. Letting his arm drop away, Shiro couldn't help but notice how _close_ to him Lance was standing, looking up at him. It wouldn't take much, just leaning forward one small amount, really. All that separated them was a couple of inches that he could easily—

"We should go." Shiro cleared his throat, stepping back and shaking out his sleeves. His cheeks felt as though they might catch fire.

"R-right. Right yeah." Lance looked away, biting his lip. Shiro wanted so badly to draw him in, seize him up and kiss him. Ceremony be damned.

In the elevator, the silence was tense, Shiro's chest feeling tight. Lance had waited until they were alone to let out a short but warbling belch. The absurd contrast of someone dressed so _formally_ acting so casually had Shiro laughing despite himself, some of the tension popping and dissolving away as simple as that. Right, dressed up or not, they were never more than the sum of themselves.

Shiro had to admit he'd been worried about how Lance would do with the social aspects of the event. But when it came down to it, Lance was… he was _charming._ Smiling and laughing when he should, making all the appropriate social gestures, Lance quickly had everyone who approached Shiro wrapped around his pinky finger and wrapped up in conversation. All while hanging off of Shiro's arm all evening. The older man found himself in awe, caught up in the spell Lance wove on his audience. This was the same man who only yesterday had tripped over his feet several times because he was too busy looking at all of the tall buildings surrounding him. But this? It was like he was in his element. Or, at the very least, he played the role well.

When it came time for Shiro to give his speech and accept the little trophy they wanted to give to him, Lance looked almost nervous. With a squeeze to Lance's hand, he pulled away, heading up to the front to the sound of applause. Shiro flipped the switch inside his head easily, engaging his Public Persona. He had this. This was the part he was good with. His speech was practised and smooth, his tone authoritative but eloquent, giving the facts without lecturing the audience. He lifted the sombre tone of the topic with well-timed and carefully placed jokes, making the audience chuckle and offer up scattered applause.

Getting back to the table, Shiro downed not one but three glasses of champagne in quick succession. He tried to avoid outwardly slumping down in his seat even as Lance's gaze bored a hole into the side of his head. "…Yes?" he asked finally.

"Holy _shit._ " Lance's tone was soft, a whisper of a hiss. "That was… I would pay you to just talk at me like that for hours. Where'd all of that come from? I mean… _wow._ Just _wow._ More than wow. Like you could give speeches for a living and people would pay to just listen to you talk. And your voice is so smooth and _wow._ "

Shiro blinked, blushing at Lance's compliments and apparent awestruck state. It was much like the night before when the smaller man had hung off of his words, even if his topics in his speech had strayed farther from the sunshine and rainbows he'd told to Lance at dinner. "I… thank you? I don't… crowds are easy. People are hard."

"Hey now, _I'm_ easy." Lance winked cheekily, prompting Shiro to roll his eyes and elbow him slightly. A moment later, Lance was reaching over, grabbing Shiro's fingertips in his palm with a squeeze. It was a small gesture, subtle and not enough for anyone to notice. But it was obvious that was the point. It wasn't _for_ anyone else. It was just for Shiro.

And the way the older man's heart fluttered and flip-flopped in his chest at that knowledge had another realization crashing into him, sending him off-balance as though he'd been struck. He had a _crush_ on Lance. It had all been so slow, so natural, he hadn't even realized it. Shiro found himself staring at Lance with unfiltered awe, only shaken out of his silent revelation when he realized someone was asking him a question. As he jumped into his response, Lance squeezed at his fingers again.

And Shiro squeezed back.

It turned out that Lance was a saint about fielding questions and redirecting topics after Shiro's speech as well. He was an absolute saint. And Shiro couldn't have been more thankful. Whenever Shiro started to get too overwhelmed, Lance was there to jump in and spin the topic into something easier to carry, easier for Shiro to handle. And oftentimes that came with a little squeeze of his hand. The feeling of Lance's hand in his seemed almost natural by the end of the evening. He was going to have to do something really good for Lance after all this. Sure, he was paying the man a hefty sum of money, but beyond that, something on a more personal level.

By the time they got back to their room that night, Shiro was exhausted. Exhausted was putting it lightly. He collapsed onto the bed without a thought, not bothering to change or do much more than tug at his tie enough to pull it loose, letting it slip off his fingertips to the floor. He could deal with it later. He just… needed to relax for a few minutes. Just a few minutes and then he would be fine to get up and get changed.

Shiro didn't remember dozing off, only waking up to his shoes having been placed neatly on the side of the room, his suit jacket neatly back in its bag, and the blankets carefully tugged up over him. It had to have been Lance's help, yet again. Lance was… _genuinely_ good people.

Sunday went by quickly. Shiro could hardly believe how… bearable the brunch was with Lance at his side. Lance was, as he'd been at every event, charming and personable and directed the attention away from Shiro and onto himself. Little stories and ideas and anecdotes that Shiro found himself getting caught up in as well occupied most of the conversation with anyone looking to talk to Shiro. It was… nice, being able to be almost on the sidelines. He was actually enjoying himself for the first time at these events in a long time. Thanks to Lance. He could almost get used to him being at his side. Almost. If it weren't all just make-believe.

After brunch it was back to the hotel. Lance flopped down onto the bed but Shiro dismissed that idea right away. "No way. You're getting up. We've still got sightseeing to do, remember? I promised we'd see what we couldn't the other day?" He had a few hours left with Lance, a few hours to pretend they were _real,_ that Lance wasn't just a hired actor. And he was going to make the most of it.

Lance sat up quickly, blinking at Shiro with wide-eyes. "What? You were serious? I thought you were just saying that so you could get some sleep. I…"

"I'm a man of my word." Shiro smiled and winked and he could have _sworn_ he saw Lance blush. If only.

But whatever Lance's actual reaction, Shiro's words had gotten him moving again, getting up and changing into something more comfortable, fitted jeans and a long-sleeve shirt that showed off just how slim he was. Yet again, Lance had no shame about stripping down to his boxers right in front of Shiro. Shiro, for his part, let himself indulge in a few more guilty peeks than he had before. It didn't seem like Lance minded him looking, after all. And… if it was the last time he got to see him like this… Shiro committed as much as he could to memory.

Still apprehensive about his scars, Shiro opted to change in the bathroom, quickly undressing and redressing into a pair of relaxed fit dark colour jeans and a maroon sweater that clung to his frame. Shiro would have sworn Lance was checking him out when he stepped out of the bathroom, slipping his watch back on. He was almost sure of it. Almost.

Before long, they were out on the town again, exploring around the different sights and tourist traps. Shiro couldn't resist buying a few more souvenirs, some for himself and some of things he'd caught Lance staring at. The way Lance lit up every time Shiro gave him something had the older man's heart fluttering in his chest, warmth spreading through his core in the chilled air.

Dinner was Italian at some little hole-in-the-wall place they'd been recommended by an old lady in one of the souvenir shops, quiet with soft music and equally soft lighting. It was almost like a real date. Could have been, even. But the joking and laughing that had occupied most of their evening faded as they got to the end of their meal. This was the end. Tomorrow they would fly home and… probably never see each other again. This would all be over, not that 'this' had been a thing in the first place.

Shiro wanted to say something, desperately wanted to ask Lance to see him again. But… that would be crossing a line, wouldn't it? After all, it was just supposed to be a job. But this, where they were now, there was no one to impress, no one to convince, and yet Lance was still… Lance, the same charming, dorky, awkward, flirty, downright confusing man he'd spent the weekend falling for. Shiro kept his thoughts to himself save for tentatively linking Lance's fingers with his own as they walked back to the hotel.

Lance didn't pull away.

The next morning, they packed their things and headed for the airport. The flight was short enough but somehow more awkward and quiet than the flight there. No, not somehow, Shiro knew exactly why. He didn't want this to end. Shiro quickly lost track of how many times he started to say something only to lose his words and his nerve. They both knew what the deal was going into this.

Shiro wasn't going to make things even more uncomfortable by acting like he thought this was something more than it was. But still… some small part of him wanted to hope that it had been _more_ for Lance like it had become for him. More than just a job. More than just… business. More… _real._

Before long, the plane was landing and Shiro felt Lance shuffling down the narrow aisle behind him, off the plane and through the gate. Instinctively, Shiro stepped off to the side of the terminal, out of the flow of tired travelers. Lance followed, thankfully or unfortunately, Shiro wasn't sure. He almost felt as though a clean break would have been better.

"Well… That was… Thank you for a… memorable weekend." Shiro nodded as he spoke. It was too cold, it tasted wrong in his mouth. It was what came out out anyway.

Lance's laugh in response sounded forced, cracked and chipped around the edges. It almost hurt to hear. "Sure. No problem. Thanks for y'know… All of it. It was… it was fun." Lance backed up a few steps, seeming to hesitate on something and scratching awkwardly at his neck before turning to leave.

"Lance, **_wait_ **." Shiro wasn't sure when he had started moving, chasing down Lance but he caught up to him easily, biting his lip. "I… look I'm… I'm sorry if this is too much to ask but… Would you… Maybe… want to have dinner again… sometime…?"

Lance stopped dead in his tracks, blinking at Shiro in a way that had the older man not sure if he'd misstepped. But then a smile cracked across his face that Shiro swore could light up the entire terminal.

Shiro found himself struggling to catch Lance who had flung himself against him, their lips crashing together. It was too hard, too sudden, and the angle was wrong, but the kiss had Shiro's heart stuttering and skipping nonetheless. But not as much as the words that followed it when Lance broke away, nuzzling at the side of Shiro's nose with his own.

"Yeah I'd… I'd like that."


End file.
